


Butterfly

by ProneToRelapse



Series: Jim and Seb Drabbles and Oneshots [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Distractions, Explosions, His patience really is marvellous, Jim happens, M/M, MorMor versions of fluff, brief mentions of things that could be considered parts of an abusive relationship, but it's MorMor..., shh you love it, that's sort of a given, to Seb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a reason Jim is supposed to stay at home!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterfly

Jim stays at home. That is the one thing that Seb asks of him; the one thing that Seb wants Jim to do. To keep him out of danger when Seb is on a job, to make a quick getaway without having to worry about Jim keeping up or getting left behind. Seb knows that if Jim comes with him on a job, Jim's inelegant nature - yeah, whatever, he's a criminal mastermind but a fucking clumsy bastard - would most likely end up getting them killed.

So forgive him if Seb says he doesn’t want Jim to come with. But he’s just being the kind, considerate, caring bodyguard-cum-boyfriend that he is. He wants Jim safe because, God knows, the man has the survival instincts of a gnat. It’s all he can do to keep Jim at home so he’s not in any danger that may--

“Tiger, I’m _booooooored_.”

Seb grits his teeth so hard that they clench together with an audible snap. He inclines his head slightly in Jim’s direction, not taking his eye away from the sight on his rifle. He won’t respond. He won’t give Jim the satisfaction. This is Seb’s job, dammit. He’s a professional. He won’t be distracted by some whiny little--

“Sebby, can we go home now?”

Jesus Christ, it’s like having a child.

“I’m bored and it’s cold up here.”

Seb won’t look at him. Seb will not make any noise. He shifts slightly and checks his aim. He’s only got one shot at this. Eight hundred yards though an open bathroom window. Easy as you like, but not with a whiny brat stuck in the body of a thirty-three-year-old next to you, fluttering by your ear. But Seb can focus. He’s used to Jim’s shit. He will not be distracted. He adjusts the rifle carefully and glances at his watch. Five minutes.

One silenced shot.

He breathes in.

He breathes out.

He can feel his heartbeat slowing.

Slowing.

 _Slowing_ …

His target is almost in view; a shadow falls over the window.

Seb’s finger ghosts over the trigger…

“Sebastian, are you listening to me?”

Seb will _not_ kill Jim, Seb will _not_ kill Jim…

“You _aren’t_!” Jim wails in dismay. “I came along because I wanted to spend some _time_ with you, because you said we never do anything _together_ and you’re ignoring me!”

Seb, you were employed to _protect_ Jim. It would defeat the whole purpose if _you_ ended up killing him...

“I’m _heartbroken_.”

By strangling him…

“ _Bereft_ , I tell you.”

Choking him…

“Quite honestly I don’t know how I’m to go on.”

Wrapping large, tanned hands around pale, perfect throat and squeezing…

“Because it’s _obvious_ you don’t want me here.”

Leaving pretty trails of broken blue and purple over alabaster skin…

Seb watches - actually sees it happen - his mark walk past the window and disappear from view. He missed. His mark is gone… Jesus fucking Christ, he missed. Well, not technically if he didn’t take the shot, but his mark is still alive and Jim is right there and the madman has actually broken his hand with a claw hammer before when he’s made a mistake, so what will--

“Sebastian.”

Jesus, can’t a guy finish a fucking mental sentence around here?

Sebastian turns to look at Jim, finally. He lowers his rifle, eyes slightly wider than normal. Jim is sat on the ground with his legs stretched out in front of him, hunched up in his jacket and pale hands wrapped around his phone. He looks back at Seb and smiles.

Huh.

Well, that’s not the smile Seb expected to see. It’s not his manic smile, nor is it his “Oh boy, you are going to be in sooo much pain when we fuck tonight!” smile. It’s his, “hey, maybe we should go home and put on your record player and fuck on the sofa,” smile.

And Seb realises.

Jim wasn’t trying to distract him. There was nothing Seb needed to be distracted from.

Seb sighs with a faint smile and touches Jim’s cheek fondly. The Irishman beams and taps a series of keys on his phone. A second passes between them, and then…

The building across the road is ripped open by a thin stream of fire. The concussive blast is enough to ruffle Seb’s hair and the collar of Jim’s jacket flickers. Seb doesn’t even wince as the sound, following a few seconds after the explosion - could be C4 though not quite strong enough - causes his ears to ring. He smirks as Jim’s eyes shine with childish glee.

“You bastard,” he mouths fondly. Jim laughs. Or he looks like he’s laughing. Seb can’t hear over the roar of blood in his ears and the muted sounds of panic going on below them. He leans forward to kiss Jim and there’s definitely a possessive edge to it.

But Seb can’t help it. Because sometimes it’s obvious. Jim would blow up the world just for him.


End file.
